One week ago, my family and I took part in the St. Vladimir’s Theophany celebrations for the first time. We had not been able to attend services last year, as we had been back home in Texas during Theophany, and onlymade it back from visiting my wife’s family in Kentucky one day prior to the feast this year. On that day, while my wife, our three little girls, and I were just getting our bearings after our journey, the part of the seminary community that had stayed on campus for the break was participating in one of the longest liturgical days of the Orthodox year: Royal Hours, Typika, the Vesperal Liturgy of St. Basil the Great, and the First Blessing of Water—all told, an almost four-hour stretch of services. I asked one neighbor of mine how it went as he came in from church; he responded (a bit wearily but with a smile), “It was long, involved, and…beautiful.”
That night, my family and I attended the vigil for the feast, and the next morning we attended the Divine Liturgy. Following the celebrations, we all went in procession to the snow-bordered little fish pond right outside Three Hierarchs Chapel for the second blessing of water. It was here that my thoughts about what Theophany means took an unexpected turn. As I said, my wife and I are used to celebrating Theophany either in Texas, where water is usually blessed either in a baptismal font or (no kidding) a horse trough, or in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where Orthodox parishes gather to bless the Arkansas River, which culminates with the priests’ pushing a giant cross carved out of ice into the river. The cold, snowy surroundings, along with the different venue for the blessing, made this a notable exception to what we’d been accustomed to.
The fish pond holds significance for our family; during the previous semester, one of the groundskeepers had asked us if we wouldn’t mind feeding the pond’s beautiful Koi fish on the weekends. My girls jumped at the chance, and the fish jumped every weekend as soon as they saw us, maws gaping eagerly for food. The pond was quiet now, on January 6th, and ice partially covered the surface, which was disturbed only by the hand cross which was thrown into the pond and retrieved three times at the blessing of waters. The lack of activity was obvious, yet our celebration of the manifestation of Christ as the One Whose "light…has shown on us,” and Who Himself is the “Light Unapproachable” that has, in turn, “enlightened the world,” as we sing in the Troparion and Kontakion hymns for Theophany, falls at a time when the darkness of winter is only now beginning to give way to the increasing light that comes with a new year. In spite of the cold, in spite of the lifelessness, in spite of the still-predominant dark of the season, we sing hymns of praise to the Light of the world, Who mercifully blesses the most primal element of our life: water.
Following the blessing of water, all of us were invited to the homes of several faculty members for the first house blessings of the Theophany season. We gathered in the front rooms of the houses, and all of us sang the festal Troparion as we, and the walls in every house, were sloshed with freshly-blessed holy water. Following the services, we all sat down together as a community to enjoy the hosts’ hospitality and yummy refreshments. While I ate and mingled at one of the houses, I met a young man who was visiting St. Vladimir’s to see if it would be a good fit for him as a seminary. We talked a bit about what he already appreciated about the seminary’s legacy in the Orthodox world, but at the end he mentioned how touched he was by the warmth he saw displayed in the house blessings. The sense of community at St. Vladimir’s has always been a wonderful aspect of our life here, and at no time is the sense of togetherness stronger than when we open our houses up to one another and share in the joy of our life in Christ.
We have now come to the leavetaking of the feast, and after a week of hearing my daughters sing the festal hymns at meals and ask (whine, really, and repeatedly so) for “somemoreholy water” which we brought from church and keep in a mason jar, we’re very grateful to have been present for this great feast—which outranks even Christmas in the Church’s calendar!—and for the sense of how Christ has revealed Himself to us both in liturgy and community.
Thanksgiving is a classic example of how time flows here St. Vladimir’s. Other institutions may experience it in a roughly linear fashion. Here it pools and eddies, and occasionally it seems to be going backward. Thus it is only natural that we celebrate Thanksgiving well in advance of the fourth Thursday of November—2 weeks early to be specific—so as to avoid the dilemma faced by many Orthodox Christians in America, i.e. how to smile convincingly and say “Pass the Tofurky” while your second cousin is gnawing on a drumstick and your great aunt is daintily downing gravy-drowned mashed potatoes. The whole community piles into the Metropolitan Phillip Auditorium, transformed from a lecture hall to a giant dining room, to celebrate and give thanks with feasting and fellowship. This year I gained a new appreciation for what it takes to prepare one of these yearly extravaganzas when I went from being a member of Meal Crew #3 (go Wolverines!) to being the assistant to the Special Events Coordinator.
My first assignment was to procure the decorations. Simple, I thought, I’ll just run over to the dollar tree and pick up a few festive table cloths and napkins and we’ll be all set. Of course I put this off as assignments piled up. I’ve got plenty of time, I told myself. About a week before SVOTS Thanksgiving (Election Day, to be specific), I was given my first test of the Thanksgiving spirit when I got a call from my husband Charlie—the car broke down while he was out on assignment, the transmission had to be replaced, and you know Westchester prices. Had this been an animated film a cartoon angel would have flown across the top of the screen with a banner reading: “In every thing give thanks…”
A week and several borrowed rides later we had a working vehicle and I was all set to go on my mini-shopping spree. I should mention that I hate shopping. Thankfully my friend Mandy, one of the SVOTS spouses, was willing to come along and prevent me from melting into a pool of indecision, or simply choosing the ugliest thing I found simply because it was closest to the checkout line. Little did we suspect that the dollar stores in Yonkers were also experiencing time warps—they were already celebrating Christmas.
After failing to find anything non-green, red, and tinsel related, we moved on, ironically enough, to the Christmas Tree Shops (one store, not many) where we found the discount autumnal ware in assorted patterns for just $1 each. I picked up one of the plastic-wrapped table cloths.
“What size do we need?” Mandy asked.
“Um...Chef said banquet sized, whatever that means.” We stared at the packet. There were some dimensions, but no helpful captions like “This is the size you’re looking for” or “Buy me.” Then a total stranger paused while fishing napkins out of the bin and said, “Oh, banquet size, that’s…” she gave us some numbers. “These aren’t the right size.”
We stared at them some more. “Well,” I said, “we could just use two per table and overlap them.” So we bought out the most abundant pattern and some napkins to match (most of them were buried beneath the Turkey-patterned dessert plates) and moved on to table decorations. Our options were as follows: straw men on sharp stakes, cardboard pumpkins covered in orange glitter and flat-as-pancakes potpourri bags. Needless to say, we moved on. Here I’ll put in a plug for Trader Joe’s grocery store which had 69¢ gourds that looked to me to be only mildly cancerous.
Thus armed, and with the help of many other students and assorted kids, the stage was set, and during the Akathist “Glory to God for All Things” we assembled the main attractions: "Ladies and Gentlemen, starting from the door we have the food table with its rice, turkey, yams, cranberry sauce, salad bowl, salad dressing, where are the croutons?? more cranberry sauce, yams, turkey, rice, and the drink bar. 'Yes'—to all of you who asked, 'Is there wine at this event?'."
But it didn’t look complete until church let out and the room was filled by the members of the community—students and spouses talking, laughing, kids playing tea party under the appetizer table, faculty members donning aprons to serve the meal. That’s when it really felt like the family gathering that it was, and I finally remembered to be thankful for being a part of it.
There is still nothing in my life experience quite like “Ed Day.” I suppose it could be like a parish festival, but the parish I grew up in didn’t have one. It seems to me, that it is more than that. Orthodox Education Day points to something beyond itself, beyond just being a fundraiser and a PR event. Ed Day is more, and for us as Orthodox Christians in America, should be a cherished part of our past, and a continuous vehicle for our calling in the present and future.
I’m not terribly good with math, but I believe I’ve attended eighteen consecutive Ed Days, which is pretty remarkable for someone who is only twenty-three. My home parish helps to sponsor the Greek Food booth, and inevitably I was dragged along with the family to help make "gyros." As I grew older, I looked forward to Ed Day, and saw it as a chance to visit the Seminary, meet and greet friends, work for the Church, and participate in the Eucharistic Liturgy. In college, I would always drag members of my OCF group to attend, to expose them to the seminary community and the join in fellowship with the greater Church.
The history of this event should be remarkable for us. Ed Day represent the steps of a fledgling local Church attempting to reach out to the culture that surrounded it. When my grandmother and mother would attend, there were simply no other events available in English for Orthodox Christians. Ed Day truly lived up to its title back then, since there were no other options, not much else was available for educating English-speaking people about our faith. Now we have books, articles, websites, podcasts, blogs, and a tidal wave of other materials and content, all pointed at educating our people and non-Orthodox alike. In a certain way, these resources owe their heritage to Ed Day, the symbolic mother of our Church’s attempt to reach out, preach, and teach in English.
Education day has changed, of course, as all things do. This year in particular it has changed rather radically. Most glaring to us “veterans,” the large, public Divine Liturgy was moved to an earlier time and located in the chapel rather than on the front lawn. I struggled with this decision. In one way, I felt it was a great idea, particularly because it was a lot of work to move all of the chapel appointments down to the lawn and back. On the other hand, it felt like a betrayal of Father Schmemann’s vision of the Eucharist being the central point of the day. I was skeptical. What surprised me was that the chapel was full for the 7:30 a.m. Divine Liturgy. It was also important to see the seminary community coming together in worship and thanksgiving before going off and performing our duties for the day. On a very practical level, it was wonderful to have liturgy without the smell of grilled meats wafting through the altar. This would often happen in the old configuration with liturgy out on the lawn, and would create an odd "Mary-Martha" tension.
This year’s Ed Day seemed to emphasize the ethnic nature of Orthodoxy. “Many Cultures, One Faith,” the theme for the day, seemed just like another call to the community to come eat ethnic food and look at our pretty paintings and dancing but to regard us only as an ethnic ghetto. At first, I was skeptical about this. Certainly Ed Day is supposed to be more? Of course, it was. There were a large amount of immigrants this year, Georgians and Russians specifically, that came for Ed Day. Suddenly I saw the vision of Ed Day again, as people who have never been exposed to St. Vladimir’s, who have never read the theology that came from here, that never heard our music, were flocking to the bookstore. An entire group of people were being exposed to the Seminary for the first time. People were being educated about their Orthodox faith not in their “Orthodox” homeland, but in America, and, in English.
For someone who grew up in America in the Orthodox Church, in the Slavic “sphere of influence,” the Akathist celebrated at Ed Day was really the highlight. It's remarkable to me, a person whose family history was intertwined with the divisions in Slavic-American Orthodoxy, to witness the real unity present at that service. To have the Primate of the Orthodox Church in America (OCA) celebrate with a Bishop from the Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia (ROCOR), and priests from the OCA, ROCOR, and the Moscow Patriarchate, was truly a memorable experience. And it was all done in English, no less. It really is beautiful when "brothers dwell in unity."
Even around the seminary campus we debate whether Ed Day is “worth it” or not. I’m not really sure what that means. I suppose people want to know whether their work “pays off” in terms of financial gains for the seminary. This year, it did. Even though I have a business degree, I can’t understand this way of thinking. The money doesn’t really matter. All the work, all the stress, all the inconvenience is “worth it” if just one person comes to the knowledge of Jesus Christ, has his or her life changed, or reconciles with a brother or sister.—Second-year Seminarian, Andrew Boyd
I tend to shy away from such cliché expressions as, “God called me to come to St. Vladimir’s.” And yet, I am at a loss to explain it any other way. I can remember waking up the first morning after my family made the move to SVOTS, looking out of our apartment window, and asking myself, “What have I done?” And yet, here I am with my wife Katie and my two sons. I am an utterly average seminary student in most respects. However, few of my fellow students have left a life of playing music in rock bands in order to pursue a calling to ministry in the Orthodox Church. This is my experience.
I was raised in a solidly Evangelical Protestant Christian home. My father was a pastor in the Christian and Missionary Alliance denomination, and I was raised within the folds of church life. I developed a sour taste for church ministry early on, as I watched the difficulties that my father experienced as a pastor. I promised myself from an early age that I would never, under any circumstances, follow in my father’s footsteps and become a pastor.
I graduated from Toccoa Falls College, an evangelical Bible college in Toccoa, Georgia, with a degree in Broadcast Communications. While attending TFC, I met two people who would be instrumental in changing my life: my future wife, Katie, and my friend Chris Foley. Katie and I would marry in 1991. Chris and I, along with my brother Lee Bozeman and our friend Glenn Black would form a rock band called “Luxury.” This band would become the central focus for our lives for several years. We signed a record deal with Tooth & Nail Records in 1995, and began doing what all aspiring bands did at that time: write songs and “tour,” playing shows across the country. We began to envision a future as a legitimate rock band, earning a living by doing what we loved: playing loud, edgy rock music.
Our plans were put on hiatus in July of 1995. We were returning home from playing at a festival in Illinois, when our driver lost control of our tour van. The van flipped and rolled across the median of I-57, coming to rest on its passenger side in the northbound lane. Three passengers (the driver of the van, another friend who was traveling with us, and our drummer Glenn) each suffered a broken neck, and Lee was crushed by the van as it rolled across the median. Miraculously, despite the serious and even life threatening nature of the injuries, no one was killed. Months of recuperation followed, during which we all had the chance to consider the merits of “life on the road.”
A little over a year later, Luxury began to try to pick up where we had left off. But it soon became apparent that our individual foci were shifting. Lee and Chris had both become much more involved in something called the “Evangelical Orthodox Church” and kept talking about something called “liturgy.” What was an “Orthodox” church? As a lukewarm Evangelical, I could understand the words “Evangelical” and “Church,” but “Orthodox” and “liturgy” were words alien to my vocabulary. I was scandalized by their use of icons, their veneration of the saints, and their insistence on a “sacramental worldview.” It would be several years before I finally had the “ears to hear” and could perceive the reality of Christ in his Church that Orthodoxy presents to all who are seeking.
Which is not to say that I was seeking. At best, I was a lukewarm Christian. I attended an excellent Evangelical church and had a wonderful pastor who cared for me. My focus was my music, and the Church factored very little in the overall picture. After our band’s accident, I watched as Lee and Chris shifted their focus. They gave even more attention to their spiritual life and the Church, and they actively participated in their own church’s journey toward unity with the canonical Orthodox Church. I perceived that they had something that I lacked, even while I couldn’t accept the “weird” stuff that Orthodox folks seemed to do. Why did they cross themselves? Were they superstitious or something? What is with all this kissing and chanting and candles…? My list of questions went on and on. Inside, though, I could sense that they had a freedom and a sense of connection with Christ that I couldn’t even begin to touch.
The change came in 1999, when this group from the local Evangelical Orthodox Church, who themselves were moving toward eventual acceptance into the Orthodox Church in America (OCA), held a series of “seekers classes.” These classes were intended to explain Orthodoxy to those of us that had friends and relatives who had followed the Orthodox path. I was finally ready, after several years of struggle, to receive what was being offered: the true Church. These meetings set my heart on fire for the Church in a way that I had never before experienced. And yet, it would be five more years before my family would finally convert.
I spent those years taking on a lay-pastoral role in my Evangelical church, despite my lifelong misgivings about such a ministry. I can only summarize this time by saying that God was transforming me, growing a desire in me to serve in my church. Simultaneously my desire to understand my own faith grew as I talked with my Orthodox friends, and as we “compared notes” and talked theology. I saw, more and more, that the Evangelical Protestant expression of Christianity, with all of its good intentions and excellent qualities, simply could not offer what I most wanted for myself and my family: the Church. The more that we gathered together in Bible studies and examined our beliefs as Evangelicals, the more I could see this glaring disconnect from the Church, from her rich teachings, from her history. We were blind: we loved Christ truly, and called Him “Savior,” but still we remained blind. Simply put, we were not “Orthodox,” and there was nothing that I could do to change this fact about our church.
Throughout this time I was becoming more and more Orthodox in my mindset. I expressed my frustration to Chris Foley. His answer was simple and obvious and appropriate: “Convert.” It wasn’t until the summer of 2004 that my family and I felt the undeniable compulsion to leave our Evangelical church family of the last ten years and become a part of St. Timothy Orthodox Church in Toccoa.
St. Timothy’s was the offspring of the formerly Evangelical Orthodox group that had been in existence in Toccoa since the mid-1990s. I attended my first Orthodox Great Vespers service there on August 28, 2004. I immediately felt as if I had found my home. I knew that this was where God was leading us. Leaving our Evangelical church family was extremely difficult. They were good friends and were our spiritual family, but we had seen something in Orthodoxy that we could no longer avoid. By February of 2005, my wife, two sons, and I were all communing Orthodox Christians.
Music continued to play a major role in my life. I continued to play music with Chris Foley, until he decided that God had called him to life of service in the Church. To that end he made the decision to leave Toccoa and move to St. Vladimir’s and pursue ordination. In 2006, I (a relatively new convert) was privileged to witness his ordination to the holy priesthood, here, at St. Vladimir's. The seminary made a great impression on me at that time, and I remember thinking off-handedly, “I may end up here one day.” That thought vanished nearly as quickly as it had appeared.
And yet I believe that God uses those moments in our lives as a door, perhaps only cracked open a very little bit, in order to open us wide to his desire for us. That brief thought lingered in the back of my consciousness, until one evening in the summer of 2008.
I was at a Compline service at St. Timothy’s, and at that time was experiencing a fairly confusing phase in my life. I was having a difficult time harmonizing my church life with my persistent desire to make music. The demands of playing shows and the way that they seemed to interfere with the service schedule of the Church began to trouble me. More so, I was realizing that I was changing and that my desire for the Church was growing, competing with my desire to “do music.” That night, during Compline, I apparently cracked open “the door” again, allowing God to work something greater within me. I had a sense that I was being called to move on to something else.
My brother had been making plans to attend St. Vladimir's, and he encouraged me to come and preview the seminary with him as a potential student. It wasn’t until this moment in Compline that I realized that maybe this was something that I could do, and could offer to God so that He might bless it. I agreed to make the trip to New York with Lee. We visited St. Vladimir's later that year, and my decision was made. I made a plan: I would send in my application, and if I were accepted, my family would leave our home of twenty years and move to New York. By August 11, 2009, we were unpacking our moving truck on the SVOTS campus.
One year after making that “fateful move,” I still wake up occasionally asking myself in reference to my decision to come to St. Vladimir's, “What have I done? And how did I get here?” It hasn’t been an easy transition. In my vanity, I miss being able to say, “I play guitar in a rock band.” I miss the relative simplicity of my old day job building furniture, and the relative comfort of a small Orthodox mission full of naïve converts (including myself). Harmonizing academics and one’s spiritual life seems to present big challenges at the most inopportune times. But God is good, and He blesses those things that can be blessed.
Much has been said about the icon of Christ that hangs in the Three Hierarchs Chapel here at SVOTS. Referenced on this icon is John 15:16: “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide…” I take much comfort in this daily reminder of God’s desire at work in the lives of all seminarians. Our “job” is to provide something worthy to be offered to God, ideally the “broken and contrite heart” of Psalm 50, so that He might bless that and return it to us transformed into that which it was always intended to be: a heart burning with the desire for God alone. He chooses us. If there is to be any fruit from his choosing, it will be the fruit of God working to transform us.
This is the role that St. Vladimir’s plays in our lives as seminarians. To use a woodworking analogy, SVOTS functions like a carving tool whose purpose is to pare away those things that obscure the image that is hidden within the rough block of wood. It is God who uses this tool to work on us, sometimes in painful and difficult ways, but always in synergy with willing hearts, and with a mind toward our own perfection in Christ.
Our Alumnus, the Very Reverend Steven J. Belonick (M.Div. ’77), of blessed memory, was the rector of Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church in Bridgeport, CT. On the Sunday of Cross in 2017, he delivered this homily, reflecting upon the Cross as a symbol of both judgment and mercy.
Today, we have reached the midpoint of Great Lent in our journey to Pascha. I pray that you have not used this time in vain but have taken advantage of this opportunity to grow closer to God. At this midpoint the Church once again offers us the Cross of Christ to venerate and to reflect upon its place in our Christian life.
To help us in our reflection, I want to refer you back to a prescribed reading that was given to us this past week from the Book of Isaiah. I hope you took the time to read it (Isaiah 9.9–10.4). This reading describes the chaos that existed in Israel when the Prophet Isaiah lived. Let me describe some of it for you.
Pride and arrogance had filled the hearts of the people. They believed that they were wiser than God and refused to turn to the Him, even though danger was all around. Wickedness burned like a forest fire among them, and yet they remained unrepentant. Moral decay reigned unencumbered, and civil war was an ever-present reality. Enemies from the north were preparing to invade. Brother fought against brother, tribe against tribe. Describing these horrible circumstances that raged in his midst, Isaiah wrote these words: “For all this, God’s anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still” (Isaiah 9.12, 17, 21; 10.4). Four times within this passage Isaiah uses these same words as a kind of refrain.
This phrase indicates that despite all the destruction around them and God’s call to repentance, the Israelites chose to sink deeper and deeper into sin—even to the point of cannibalism, due to famine! And, so God continued to stretch out His hand. In other words, He continued to permit the cycle of destruction that was devastating their lives.
This haunting refrain, however, not only describes God’s anger at His people but also, at the very same time, His mercy. How so?
If you read the passage carefully, you will find that there is a fascinating sequence to the ever-worsening judgments and disasters permitted by God.[1] First, He throws down idolatrous Israel’s altars and shrines. Second, He cuts Judah and Israel to pieces. Third, He fuels a fire, and, fourth, He gives them over to cannibalism. A modern commentator on this passage, Peter J. Leithart, states: “Israel is being sacrificed: Dismembered, burned, eaten. Yahweh’s response to Israel’s injustice is to sacrifice Israel.”
Leithart goes on to explain that this passage prophesies the death of Jesus. Jesus is the Child of God, the Lamb of God, who is cut, bruised, sacrificed on the wood of the Cross, and then given to us as food. In His crucified body, Jesus takes upon Himself Israel’s sin; He is sacrificed instead of them, and He thus delivers Israel from their sin and punishment. “Yahweh’s justice triumphs over Israel’s injustice,” says Leithart, “when the child is cut, when He is placed on the altar of the world, when He is given over to food, when He becomes sacrificial Israel to deliver sacrificed Israel.”
“For all this God’s anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still.” What a powerful message, for it tells us that God permitted punishment and destruction while at the same time promising overwhelming mercy.
And, what a lesson for us today! God was angry because the Israelites had turned away from Him, and likewise, His anger burns towards us when we sin. We must not deny this reality.
And yet, as He stretches out His hand—permitting us to suffer the consequences of our own sins—He has a merciful plan in mind. His plan is for us to return to our senses, after we find ourselves in squalor, in danger, and in a cycle of self-destruction due to our leaving His embrace, due to our disregarding His commandments.
The Cross that we venerate today, like Isaiah’s prophecy, perfectly illustrates God’s judgement and mercy. (For the judgment and mercy of God are always inextricably intertwined!)
Scripture confirms this. After Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, He knew that His arrest and death were imminent. His hour had come. He became reflective and began to speak about His death openly. He said to his disciples: “Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour? No, for this purpose I have come to this hour” (John 12.27). Then He said: “Now is the judgment of this world, now shall the ruler of this world be cast out; and I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself” (John 12.31–32).
So, the Cross is a judgment on us because it shows to what extent we human beings will go to reject God, to take His care and authority in vain, and to direct our allegiance elsewhere, apart from Him. But the Cross is also a source of mercy. On the Cross God’s Son still “stretches out His hands toward us,” but this time in a different way. Nailed to the tree with arms outstretched, He forgives us, He invites us, and He welcomes us. The hands of our Lord are stretched out now for us to come to Him.
At this midpoint of Lent we begin to feel the effects of fasting, and we begin to feel the temptation to weaken our resolve to complete the course of the fast. But just like a military leader shows the colors of the flag when he sees his troops growing weary, so the Church raises the Cross of our Savior to inspire us.
May the sign of the Cross motivate us to keep going, to finish the race, to be conquerors of our passions, to complete the course of the fast, and to celebrate the Feast of Feasts, our Lord’s Resurrection. As our Lord stretches out His hands to us this day, may we in turn reciprocate by stretching out our hands to grasp His. AMEN.
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[1] Here I credit research from the article: “His Anger Does Not Turn,” by Peter J. Leithart, 10 April 2011, in Credenda Agenda.
On this 40th day of the repose of Matushka Juliana Schmemann (†), it is our joy to remember her love of Christ and His Church, by sharing a poignant essay written by Shamassey Mary Honoré, wife of current seminarian Deacon Andrew Honoré and granddaughter of both Archpriest Peter E. Gillquist (†) and Archpriest Jon Braun, both of whom knew Matushka Juliana and her husband, Protopresbyter Alexander (†), long-time Dean of St. Vladimir’s Seminary, very well. Shamassey Mary’s essay reminds us how Matushka Juliana’s personal faith in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ continued to inspire and vivify those around her, even as she neared the gates of death and the threshold of heaven.
Matushka Juliana Schmemann, an “Original Brick”: A Remembrance By Shamassey Mary Honoré
Just another day at St. Vladimir’s
It was the “new normal.” My husband was a brand-new, first-year seminarian at St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary in Autumn 2015. One Saturday night in October, we walked past the Seminary’s bookstore on our way home from Great Vespers. Both of us simultaneously stopped when we noticed—both in depth and texture—a brick sticking out of the wall. A small plaque under it revealed that it was an “original brick from the Orthodox Seminary” that had previously existed in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
We discussed it for a bit, thinking it odd that we had not noticed the little brick before, even though between the two of us we had been to the bookstore over a dozen times in the past six weeks. And we wondered: What must have that original Orthodox Seminary been like? And, what had become of it, since this little brick was here in our wall at St. Vladimir’s?
I would have forgotten all about it, except that a few days later, I met a couple of living “original bricks.” I happened to write about that experience in an email to my mom and grandma…
On October 6, I took [my two young sons] to go visit Matushka Juliana (Schmemann) at her assisted-living facility about a mile from St. Vladimir’s. I was a little nervous, to say the least, as it isn’t every day one introduces oneself and boyish kin to a 91-year-old stranger who, together with her husband, is the stuff of legend in the American Orthodox world. When I got to her room, I happily discovered there her daughter Masha, who informed me that today was, in fact, Matushka’s 92nd birthday!!
Matushka Juliana was sweet and fiery. She loved seeing the boys. After a few minutes of small talk, who should walk in to wish birthday greetings but Matushka Marie Meyendorff! It was kind of surreal, sitting there with the now aged and white-haired matriarchs of not just the Orthodox Church in America (OCA, the jurisdiction), but of THE Orthodox Church in America (not the jurisdiction). What an image, right here in front of me! I was in awe to see it, myself a young mom with my babies, from the very theological institution that each of their husbands had governed, nurtured, loved, and lived decades before. And this commonality they shared was, of course, established on a much firmer foundation: that of being refugees and strangers in a new land, where they came to nurture and share their great love of Christ and His Church. The matriarchs mostly talked together while they held hands and sat chatting in Russian.
It was crazy to think about afterwards, and I came home feeling a bit stunned. Not that there was anything presumptuous about these “tiny giants” of the Orthodox Church, but more to just think about each of them in my shoes 65ish years ago, and wondering where we (the current students/families) will be in 65ish years…I know there will be those among us, even our current classmates, who will be called to “take up the torch” so to speak. Just another day at St. Vladimir’s!
I was honored to have met this very special “original brick” of our Seminary and our Church. It put into perspective for me the urgency and importance of implementing what we learn here at the Seminary. One could say that to be a seminarian, and to become a worker in God’s field, is to aspire to join the firm foundation of “original bricks” that have been laid before, by God’s grace.
Hello and Goodbye
Fast-forward to a chilly wintry day in early December 2016. I went with my grandma, Khouria Marilyn Gillquist—widow of Fr. Peter Gillquist— for a visit with Matushka Juliana. Gram was in town from Bloomington, Indiana, for a brief visit with my little family. She was old friends with Fr. Alexander Schmemann, of blessed memory, and Matushka Juliana.
We weren’t expecting much…we had been told that Matushka was slowing down and mostly slept. We were expecting a short visit. “Ten minutes!” we kept reminding each other. But Matushka was very happy to see us, and after that first ten minutes she remembered and understood exactly who we were. Then proceeded a wonderful hour: she wanted to know everything about everyone, and we were amazed as the minutes flew by and she talked and talked with perfect clarity.
She shared with us that she was in much pain. She was confined to a wheelchair and had really been suffering physically. She said how hard it was to grow old, and that she had asked God many times that she might be granted to die.
“I went up Jacob’s ladder!” she told us. “‘Knock knock knock! Can I come in?’…and St Peter told me ‘No, no, no! [shaking her finger] It is not your turn!’ So, here I am still!”
I began to feel dismayed and truly sorry when she solemnly declared, “I am not human anymore.” Age and deterioration had robbed her of most abilities, and pain and suffering riddled her body. But then, as if to combat our pity, she straightened up as best as she could and with quiet gusto exclaimed, “I love Jesus. Always in my mind…Jesus…Jesus…Jesus!”
She said it with closed eyes, giving Gram and me a moment to share a glance and wipe away our tears. I reached out to touch Matushka’s weary, weathered hand, and she instinctively held my fingers in her grasp for the rest of the conversation.
I could see her truly “waking” now. Our shared humanity and remembrances of old times were the greatest medicine. Talk of Jesus and heaven and Fr. Alexander were a balm to her tired soul. She and my grandmother shared joyful sorrow over the loss of their priest husbands, of how they continually missed them and yet had not truly lost them. I sat there as the neophyte. I couldn’t help but think of the “original brick” outside the bookstore a year earlier, and how here was this living “original brick” before me once again, aged and frail, but ready for the journey to eternity.
Suddenly she turned to me, and began to ask all about “my Deacon.” I had explained earlier on that my husband was a second-year seminarian at St. Vladimir’s, and newly ordained to the diaconate in the Antiochian Orthodox Church.
“How is your Deacon? How does he like St. Vladimir’s?” she wanted to know.
I told her he liked it very well, and that he was working hard and learning so much! Seminary can be difficult, I expressed, but we truly love it and are so grateful to have three years of such excellent training and care there. She declared how much her husband had loved St. Vladimir’s, how it was his life and his legacy. I felt humbled and touched.
Already an hour was spent, and it was time to go. I knew this was goodbye…we would not see Matushka Juliana again, but what a gift this precious hour had been!
I went to give her a hug, and kiss, and to say thank you. Suddenly, she grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me very close to her face—mere inches apart we were. She looked with clear blue eyes right into my very soul and with firm urgency said, “We brought Orthodoxy to America. It is up to you to bring America to Orthodoxy! This is your mission! Tell your Deacon! Tell them at St. Vladimir’s! This is the task of your generation! The most important thing: you must bring America to Orthodoxy.”
“I will. I promise I will tell them what you say,” I finally managed to say, through tears.
She proceeded to give me a blessing, the sign of the cross over me, a sweet kiss, and a strong squeeze of my hands. It was truly amongst the humblest and most holy moments of my life.
Giving thanks
When I learned of Matushka’s death just a few short weeks later, I felt real, overwhelming joy. She had such an incredible life, and now she was suffering no longer, and was with her sweetest “Jesus…Jesus…Jesus!” I can only imagine the reunion with Fr. Alexander. She died on January 29, the eve of their wedding anniversary, which happens to also be the feast day of the Three Holy Hierarchs, the patrons of our chapel here at St. Vladimir’s Seminary.
At our festal liturgy the next morning, I felt joy to know that Matushka was partaking in the heavenly liturgy, while we worshipped at the liturgy for the Three Hierarchs’ feast day. During the Epistle reading, I began to weep. The second verse is well-known and has been a comfort many times to me, and surely to all Christians:
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8)
The reading goes on to speak of Christ as the perfect and most holy sacrifice for us, and ends with these words: Therefore let us go forth to Him, outside the camp, bearing His reproach. For here we have no continuing city, but we seek the one to come. Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name. But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased. (Hebrews 13:13–16)
I stood weeping there, because I was so struck by the truth and beauty of the words Matushka Juliana had spoken to me at the end of our meeting, in light of the Epistle that I was hearing now. And today, on the feast of the Three Holy Hierarchs, patrons of our beloved St. Vladimir’s Seminary Chapel, she was certainly “giving thanks to His name.”
We proceeded to listen to the Holy Gospel, from Matthew 5:14–19:
You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven. Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill. For assuredly, I say to you, till heaven and earth pass away, one jot or one tittle will by no means pass from the law till all is fulfilled. Whoever therefore breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does and teaches them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.
Armed, as it were, with these sacred words, I could not help but think extensively on Matushka’s commission to “bring America to Orthodoxy!”
This is our mission!
Matushka’s funeral was truly glorious. I was standing to the far right side of the church, looking straight out towards her coffin, which was surrounded by many clergy, the Schmemann family, and beautiful flowers. Floating above was a massive and beautifully written icon of the Resurrection. The service was moving and beautiful. Afterwards, I went to give Matushka that last kiss, and felt as though I could gaze upon her forever; so at peace and so beautiful was she. I asked her to forgive me, and I promised her that I would take up my mission of sharing.
I hadn’t thought until then about my email a year ago, when I wrote: “I know there will be those among us, even our current classmates, who will be called to ‘take up the torch’ so to speak.” And suddenly, I realized: I am one of them, one of “us.”
I met an “original brick,” and her memory will live on forever, in a far greater way than the “original brick” in the wall next to the bookstore. No matter our age or position, gifts or struggles, blessings or sufferings, talents or trials, we know this is true: “That Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” True for Orthodoxy in America! True for bringing America to Orthodoxy! This is our mission!
Thank you, Matushka Juliana! I love you! Memory eternal.
On Sunday, March 5, 2017, Archpriest Chad Hatfield, President of St. Vladimir’s Seminary, was guest homilist during the Great Vespers service celebrating the Sunday of Orthodoxy, atHoly Ghost Russian Orthodox Church, Bridgeport, Connecticut—whose rector is Archpriest Steven J. Belonick, seminary alumnus (M.Div. ’77). The parish hosted the event, which was sponsored by the New England Clergy Association.
In this intriguing homily, Fr. Chad acts as both sleuth and visionary: he traces the origins of the Sunday of Orthodoxy and its subsequent celebration up to the present day, and then relates both little known and better known efforts at Orthodox Christian unity in the USA. He includes such historical tidbits as the words of St. Tikhon of Moscow in two of his homilies at Orthodoxy of Sunday Great Vespers, and the FOGCPJA (Federated Orthodox Greek Catholic Primary Jurisdictions in America) formed to address the crisis of Orthodox Christian soldiers during WWII not having dog tags to identify their religion properly! In closing, Fr. Chad urges a call to the Orthodox churches in North America to “a corporate repentance and a re-commitment to becoming the Orthodox Christian Church in America—one house, one shared faith, and one common witness?”
Orthodoxy Sunday Vespers – 5 March 2017 Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church (OCA), Bridgeport, CT Archpriest Chad Hatfield, President, SVOTS
Fathers, brothers and sisters in Christ, I want to thank Archpriest Steven Belonick for hosting this Inter-Orthodox Vespers this evening as we mark the first Sunday of Great Lent. This day is often called the “Sunday of the Triumph” of Holy Orthodoxy. We have been keeping this feast and the practice of processing with our icons and crosses since the Empress Theodora ordered Patriarch Methodius—who by all accounts was a godly Patriarch of Constantinople—in AD 843 on the First Sunday of Great Lent, to assemble the faithful for a procession with the icons, crosses, and candles, so that the holy images might be restored to the Church for veneration.
The Empress Theodora did not have the support of her late husband, Emperor Theophilus. In a dream she saw a vision of her husband being tortured for his heterodoxy as an Iconoclast. In the dream she saw herself pleading for her husband, and the voice of an Angel spoke to her, saying: “Great is your faith, o woman!” She was told that by her prayers and tears forgiveness had been granted to Theophilus. The intercessions of the priests and faithful had been heard.
Patriarch Methodius had previously written the names of all of the heretical emperors, including Theophilus, on a plain piece of paper and had placed it under the Holy Table. After his own encounter with an Angel, who told him that his intercessions had been heard and that Theophilus had been forgiven, he tested his vision by going to retrieve the paper—finding not a single name left on it! This good news was shared with the Empress and her son Michael, and thus was the beginning of this festival day.
So, we now have our history. History is very important to Orthodox Christians. We like to look back. One bit of history that I want to share this evening, is closer to our own day. That is the question: When exactly did we start gathering on the evening of Orthodoxy Sunday, with a focus on “Orthodox Unity”? I am not sure that I have an exact answer. I don’t have an exact date or time. What I do have is some more history.
We know that after the Bolshevik Revolution, 1917–18, the Orthodox Church in North America was unable to maintain the canonical unity that had, more or less, prevailed since the arrival of those first Missionaries on Kodiak Island in Alaska in 1794. Their missionary efforts are the foundation for Orthodoxy in the New World. The Church is founded on the blood of martyrs, and we have that blood in the martyrs Juvenaly and his companion and St. Peter the Aleut. This is all part of our local church history, and it is foundational for American Orthodoxy.
We also have, as part of our American Orthodox patrimony, the vision of St. Tikhon, our own Archbishop, here in America, who would return to Russia and be elected Patriarch of Moscow and All-Russia during the 1917–18 Sobor that paralleled the time of the Revolution. This year marks the 100th anniversary of his election as Patriarch and his Enthronement. Hear the words of this great saint preached on Orthodoxy Sunday in 1903:
Holding to the Orthodox Faith, as to something holy, living it with all their hearts and prizing it above all, Orthodox people ought, moreover, to endeavor to spread it among people of other creeds. Christ the Savior has said that: “neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candle stand, and it gives light to all that are in the house” (Matthew 5.15). The light of Orthodoxy was not lit to shine only on a small number of men. The Orthodox Church is universal; it remembers the words of its Founder: “Go ye into the world and preach the gospel to every creature” (Luke 16.14). “Go ye therefore and teach all nations” (Matthew 28.19). We ought to share our spiritual wealth, our truth, light and joy with others who are deprived of these blessings, but often are seeking them and thirsting for them.
In his “Farewell Sermon,” also preached on Orthodoxy Sunday in his San Francisco Cathedral in 1907, he sounded a similar note, worth hearing once again tonight:
…it is not enough, brethren, only to celebrate “The Triumph of Orthodoxy.” It is necessary for us personally to promote and contribute to this triumph. And for this we must reverently preserve the Orthodox Faith, standing firm in it in spite of the fact that we live in a non-Orthodox country, and not pleading as an excuse for our apostasy that “it is not the old land here but America, a free country, and therefore it is impossible to follow everything that the Church requires.” As if the word of Christ is only suitable for the old land and not for the entire world! As if the Church of Christ is not catholic! As if the Orthodox Faith did not “establish the universe.”
St. Tikhon had a vision for an ethnically diverse yet united Orthodox Church and Evangelical Witness to and in America. It was set in motion with the consecration of St. Raphael of Brooklyn as an Auxiliary Bishop but never fully achieved. Church politics, ethnic divisions and xenophobic fears, and finally, the Bolshevik Revolution, would shatter Orthodoxy in America into camps and the divided house that we now find ourselves in today.
Russian Americans would become two groups; Serbs would become two; Antiochians would divide between New York and Toledo; Albanians, Bulgarians, and Romanians, would divide; and property lawsuits took a toll with Greeks, Russians, Arabs—everybody. So much for making an Evangelical witness in the New World! We looked tribal to outsiders, and we were tribal for those on the inside. We not only fought about languages, but we had calendar divisions and even communities where someone from the “wrong” Old Country Village was not welcome in a particular parish. We even divided cemeteries in some places so that we would not share space even in death!
We did face a crisis when our American boys were being drafted into military service in WW II. Orthodoxy was not recognized as a religion identity option, so there were no dog tags to identify “EO” Eastern Orthodox. We had to choose “C” for “Catholic” or “P” for “Protestant.” Some even got “J” for “Jewish” when they stated that they were “Orthodox.”
In short, when an Orthodox priest, Fr. John Gelsinger was drafted, his father contacted a certain George E. Phillies, an attorney in Buffalo, New York who happened to be both Orthodox and Episcopalian and a Free Mason. (Our history is fascinating with some most interesting characters!)
With his legal skills he was able to bring together the “Big Four” hierarchs of the time, representing Antiochians, Greeks, Serbs, and Russians. This was an important foundation for what we do here tonight. It was an attempt at Orthodox unity that did bring about “EO” dog tags for our Orthodox Military members, and clarification of identity as a legal Christian church by the government (There is a famous photo of these bishops with Governor Thomas Dewey of New York). But, our unity effort lasted only until November 1944, when the Russians pulled out. Metropolitan Antony Bashir did his best to keep it going, at least on paper, but it failed in the end.
“SCOBA,” or the Standing Conference of Orthodox Bishops in America, would eventually be created in yet one more attempt to create a Pan-Orthodox witness and unity in America. It never became a true functioning local synod, as some thought that it would, but agencies such as the Orthodox Christian Mission Center, International Orthodox Christian Charities, Orthodox Scouting, and Christian Education Groups would find an umbrella through SCOBA. These were all a good things, and we thank God!
The bold gathering in Ligonier, Pennsylvania in 1994 was both an historic moment full of great hope but also a marker in our history where the vision of what could be was lit like a candle for all to see. As the candle was extinguished, for whatever reasons, so went much of the energy to push for Orthodox administrative unity in America.
So, we have continued to gather once a year on the Sunday of Orthodox for Vespers, as we do tonight, and many a sermon as been preached on the necessity for a unified Orthodox voice and presence in America. That is all well and good, but in reality do we not find ourselves, despite the creation of the Assembly of Canonical Orthodox Bishops in America as a replacement for SCOBA, as “Balkanized” as ever?
What is now commonly called the “Council of Crete,” convened this past summer, has not in truth, energized us to move forward and to finally fulfill the vision of St. Tikhon’s American Orthodoxy, where we can successfully make a united Orthodox witness in a culture that is seeking the treasures we possess. We seem pathetic, for the most part, when it comes to sharing the “Triumph of Orthodoxy” with others. People still look into our “tent” looking for the Church of Christ and finding instead a camp of tribes. What they see is hardly a picture of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church.
St. Tikhon, did not see himself as only the “Archbishop of the Orthodox in America.” He saw himself as the “Archbishop of America,” and all of the sheep were counted as members of his flock. Both Orthodox and non-Orthodox were his spiritual children. As we mark the 100th Anniversary of his election as Patriarch of Moscow and we remember his contribution to the life of the Church in North America, can we not recommit ourselves to bringing “Orthodoxy to America” and “America to Orthodoxy”?
In this spiritual tithe of the year when we seek true repentance and amendment of life as individual disciples of the Living Lord, can we not also call the Church in our land to a corporate repentance and recommitment to becoming the Orthodox Christian Church in America—one house, one shared faith, and one common witness?
We can’t afford to make peace with our unhappy divisions. We need to repent of whatever stumbling blocks keep us from being united in Christ in all things.
We have a most powerful intercessor in this cause in the person of St. Tikhon. We have heard his words and hopefully caught a glimpse of his vision for what can, and should, be Orthodoxy in America, today.
Ask yourself, as I ask myself—what do we need to do to set in motion the action steps needed to complete the vision of a faithful witness given by a saint who loved America, served it in the Name of his Lord, and who calls us to unity in Christ this very night? Ask, in your prayers this Great Lent—what needs to be done by you personally and corporately by our various churches, dioceses, archdioceses, and metropolises to achieve an end to the division and brokenness that the events of history have created and we now live with? If nothing else all of us can utter the words: “Holy Tikhon, pray unto God for us!”
